


Rebirth

by Aethelflaed



Series: ILL OMENS: The Quarantine Fics [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Brief scene of depression, Coronavirus, Declarations Of Love, Domestic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Happy Ending, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love Confessions, Love in the Time of Coronavirus, M/M, Messy Aziraphale (Good Omens), POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pining, Pining Aziraphale (Good Omens), Post-Canon, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, more like sweet nurturing crowley but ok, quarantine fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:34:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23762389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aethelflaed/pseuds/Aethelflaed
Summary: With a lockdown declared in London, Crowley chooses to remain in the bookshop.Aziraphale struggles with feelings he barely dares to acknowledge, never mind name, for fear of ruining their friendship.But perhaps, beyond the denial and anger and sadness, there's a chance for something new...--Crowley’s hand appeared from nowhere, landing on his wrist. Aziraphale watched it glide across the back of his hand, fingers twisting around his, guiding his hand towards…something. If Crowley spoke, Aziraphale didn’t hear a word of it.“I told you, I’m fine.” He tugged his hand free, started to walk away, realized he didn’t know where to go. “I don’t need…I’m fine…”“I can leave,” Crowley said evenly. “If you want.”“You don’t have to.”A creak of floorboards as he stepped closer. “Or I can stay. Long as it takes.”“You don’t have to.” Aziraphale couldn’t turn around to meet his gaze.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: ILL OMENS: The Quarantine Fics [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1707424
Comments: 39
Kudos: 243





	Rebirth

**Author's Note:**

> Another quarantine fic! I intended this to be short but the scenes kept coming.
> 
> The section headings are based on the Kubler-Ross Change Curve, so there is a brief "Depression" section. Note that this is nowhere near as intense as the previous story.

**Shock**

Crowley was visiting the bookshop when they learned about the lockdown.

An alert buzzed on his mobile, and he read the article, slowly, into the stunned silence.

“Ah.” Aziraphale set down his stack of books on a nearby table. “I suppose that explains why it’s been so quiet lately.”

“You seriously didn’t notice?”

“I knew _something_ was happening, but,” he flapped his hands, trying to find the words. His mind seemed to be having trouble keeping up with the news. “Oh, I don’t know.”

Crowley frowned. “Are you going to be alright here?”

“I don’t see why not. I have plenty to read, and enough wine to last three _months_ if I must, never mind three weeks.”

“Nh. It’s like the fourteenth century all over again.” Crowley leapt off the sofa, uncoiling in a single, graceful movement, mobile phone vanishing into a pocket. “Really thought we’d seen the end of this sort of thing.”

“Yes, I…” Aziraphale trailed off. He watched numbly as his hands adjusted the books, again and again. “Yes.”

Crowley’s hand appeared from nowhere, landing on his wrist. Aziraphale watched it glide across the back of his hand, fingers twisting around his, guiding his hand towards…something. If Crowley spoke, Aziraphale didn’t hear a word of it.

“I told you, I’m fine.” He tugged his hand free, started to walk away, realized he didn’t know where to go. “I don’t need…I’m fine…”

“I can leave,” Crowley said evenly. “If you want.”

“You don’t have to.”

A creak of floorboards as he stepped closer. “Or I can stay. Long as it takes.”

“You don’t have to.” Aziraphale couldn’t turn around to meet his gaze.

A long pause while Aziraphale waited for a thought, any thought, to drift across his mind.

“You know what we need?” Crowley’s voice was suddenly very loud, full of far too much cheer. “Tea. Good cup of tea. Let’s see…”

While the kettle boiled, Crowley guided Aziraphale with hands on his shoulders until the angel sat in his armchair. Rushed off and returned with a steaming white mug of very strong tea, pressing it into Aziraphale’s strangely cold hands.

“Drink this, Angel, you’ll feel better.”

“Crowley,” he started softly, staring at the mug in his hands. “This mug is for cocoa. The teacups are in the other cupboard, next to the sugar bowl.”

Crowley snorted and somehow launched himself back onto the sofa, landing in a sprawl of limbs. “Well. That’s it for me. Guess I’ll just wait here until the Tea Police come arrest me for my crimes.”

His mobile was back in his hands, but every now and then his eyes (hidden by the glasses, but Aziraphale knew how they moved) flicked up to watch the angel sip his tea.

\--

**Denial**

The next morning, Aziraphale bustled about his shop, putting papers back in order, rearranging books. He’d had the scientific treatises out front, but really that was much to heavy for these times. People wanted nice, light novels. Which meant a complete reorganization.

“I don’t know why you bother, Angel,” Crowley complained, trailing behind him as he bustled about.

“Oh, hush. Here, take this…” He handed over the volumes of Pliny’s _Natural History,_ “…over to the Classics section.”

“You have a Classics section? Thought it was all random.”

“Don’t be absurd. It’s there, fourth shelf, next to the cookbooks. And while you’re over there, grab, oh… _Frankenstein,_ I should think, as many copies as I have.”

The demon trotted off, giving Aziraphale a moment’s peace to sort through some books of poetry.

“Seriously, though,” Crowley’s voice boomed across the empty shop. “It’s not like you’re going to let anyone buy them anyway.”

“It’s the principle of the thing, my dear fellow.” He selected a book for his own reading later, then started sorting the rest alphabetically by the first line of the twelfth page. “I run this shop in a certain way, which has remained unchanged for over two centuries. And part of that system is anticipating customer needs and putting out almost, but not quite, what they’re looking for. If you see _Candide_ on your way past, grab that, too.”

A few moments later, a stack of books thumped onto the table, as Crowley continued to show his reckless disregard for the conditions of their spines.

“Jolly good. You know how I like them stacked. English on the bottom, French on top, and mix the copies of Frankenstein with, ah…these.” He slid over a few volumes of Percy Shelley’s poetry.

Grumbling, Crowley began arranging the books. “I don’t know why you’re in such a rush.”

“We need to make the most of this time, before customers start coming back.”

“They aren’t coming back, not any time soon. You know how it goes. It’s going to take a lot more than three weeks, and after that, people won’t be in the mood for your particular brand of psychological warfare for a long time.”

“Nonsense,” Aziraphale snapped, “you’re just upset I’m not allowing you to laze about as you always do. If you’re going to be here for three weeks, you may as well make yourself useful.”

Which was when he made the mistake of glancing up.

Crowley had taken off his glasses at some point, and when Aziraphale met those bright yellow eyes, he entirely forgot how to breathe.

There was a glow to them, an intensity that perhaps had always been there but was usually hidden behind dark glass, filtered, made safe for his consumption, but now –

The angel quickly gathered as many books as he could. “I just need to. These. Over there.” He rushed off before Crowley could say anything.

When he was safely hidden among the shelves, Aziraphale tried to force his hands to stop shaking. Told himself firmly that he hadn’t seen what he thought he saw.

Demons simply weren’t capable of…feelings like _that._ Well known fact. Oh, he knew Crowley was very fond of him, there was no denying that. Their friendship was far more than the simple relationship of convenience it had started as, and Aziraphale valued it, more than anything. Particularly now that they didn’t need to hide it, meeting like spies in the park, never quite looking at each other as they exchanged notes. In the last months, their Arrangement had begun to blossom into the kind of true companionship he had always longed for.

Which was why Aziraphale was absolutely _not_ going to ruin things by saying…by admitting to feelings that Crowley didn’t reciprocate, however much Aziraphale imagined that he did.

Taking a deep breath, the angel stepped back into the main space of the shop. His eyes, of their own accord, shot over to Crowley’s face, but the glasses were back where they belonged.

Good. That made things easier.

Crowley held a stack of psychology texts, studies of human nature and the like. “Right, where does this pile of nonsense go?”

“Oh, put them down,” Aziraphale sighed. “You don’t have to help if you don’t want to.”

“Angel.” He took a step forward, face very serious. “I want to.”

Even with the glasses in place, Aziraphale’s heart flipped over itself. “Ah. Right. Over here, then.”

\--

**Frustration**

They made it almost an entire week without fighting.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to put your feet on my furniture?”

“Why does it even matter? I can always miracle the scrapes off.”

“But _I_ still know they’re there!”

“They’re _not_ there, that’s the point!” Crowley brought his heels down on the coffee table so sharply the teacups and wine glasses clattered against each other. “But what _is_ there is this pain in my back from sleeping on a sofa because _you_ never bothered to get a bed. So if I want to stretch out, I’m going to stretch out!”

“Crowley, you are a guest in _my_ shop. I suggest you act like it!”

“Oh, I’m a guest now? Then you’re a lousy host.” He slammed his feet onto the floor and stood up, gathering items off the table. “Look at this. Look at all this bloody mess, covering every blessed surface. Teacups, wine bottles, glasses, plates, don’t you ever clean up?”

“You can just _miracle_ them clean if a bit of clutter bothers you that much.”

“A bit of clutter? A _bit?”_ He marched over to the sink, dropping everything in with a clatter that made Aziraphale wince. “You’re impossible! There’s no way to _think_ with all this – this mess everywhere I turn. And you won’t let me clean any of it!” His long arm gestured grandly, taking in the whole shop.

“Mess? _Mess?_ I’ll have you know this is a carefully organized system of –”

“There are books all over the floor!”

“That’s _where they belong!”_

“I can’t stand another minute of this – this – _this!”_ Crowley stalked across the shop, fingers in his pockets, with a scowl that could shatter mirrors. “I could be in my own bloody flat, _without_ the mess, _with_ the bed, and no bloody nagging _angel_ in my face every time I try to move!”

“Well, leave if you want! You don’t have to stay, I never asked you to!”

Crowley spun towards him, jaw clenched, emotion boiling around the edges of his glasses. “Fine.” He turned back towards the door. “Fine. Have a nice –”

Aziraphale didn’t even stop to think.

He crossed the shop faster than Crowley could, planted himself in front of the door.

“Don’t.”

“You just told me I could leave. What is this, some angelic power trip?”

“I know what I said!” Aziraphale crossed his arms and shifted his feet, trying to block the exit entirely. “And I meant it. You can leave any time you want. But not…I don’t…”

_I don’t want you to leave angry._

_I don’t want to drive you away._

_I don’t want to be alone._

But the words couldn’t find their way to his mouth. He just stood there, face hot, eyes blinking far more than he meant them to.

Crowley spun again, and for a moment Aziraphale thought he would simply walk out the back exit.

Instead, he pulled open the metal gate on the stairs. “I’ll be on the roof. Don’t follow me!”

The wrought iron crashed shut behind him.

\--

They fought many times over the next week. Crowley stormed off to the roof, again and again, but he never tried to leave.

Each argument left Aziraphale more and more drained.

Should it be simpler than this?

They'd been friends for so long, knew each other better than any two beings in existence. Why couldn't they learn how to coexist?

Why, here with the being he cared for most, did Aziraphale still feel so alone?

\--

**Depression**

“Angel?”

“Mmmm?” He didn’t look up from his book. He’d been staring at the same page for hours.

“Aziraphale.”

He let his eyes drift up, met the gaze of those black lenses. Crowley crouched beside his chair, folded arms on the armrest. His brow furrowed, but he wasn’t angry now. His voice was soft as he asked, “What’s wrong?”

Aziraphale tried to smile, held it in place as best he could. “My dear boy, why…why would anything be wrong?”

“You haven’t moved all day. You haven’t spoken in even longer. And that book is upside-down.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale shut the book, placed it aside. “I just need…that is…I’m just…”

“Are you hungry? I can try to make something.”

He felt the smile falling apart. “Oh. No, I’ve…I’ve no appetite at all, really.”

“Tea?”

He shook his head.

“Do you want to go for a walk? We can go around the park. The ducks should be there.” He glanced at the windows. “It’s not a great day, but that just means there won’t be a crowd.”

“Oh, no I…no.” He found he was shaking, and his eyes were very wet. “No. I…I don’t know what it is I need.”

He did, though. But it wasn’t something he could ask of Crowley. Not without jeopardizing what they already had. Their friendship was on tenuous enough ground these days.

And Crowley…placed his hands on Aziraphale’s, gently pulled him to his feet.

“Come on, Angel. Your turn on the sofa. You need to stretch out, get comfortable.”

“You said you can’t stretch out on it.”

“Well, you’re shorter than me. It won’t be as bad.”

Aziraphale let Crowley guide him to the sofa, and settled down on the cushions, lying on his side. It was a tight fit, but it did feel good to be in a new position.

“They extended the lockdown again, didn’t they?”

“Nh. Still no official end date. Could be end of May. Or June. Or September.”

Crowley continued moving around, but Aziraphale didn’t watch him, instead staring ahead at nothing in particular. “Was it always this bad? I don’t remember it being this bad, back in the plague years.”

“Well…different sort of bad, I suppose.” Crowley draped a thick tartan blanket over Aziraphale, wrapping it tight. He hadn’t realized he was cold, but it felt so much better. “But it’s only temporary. We’ll get through this. The world will get through it.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this. We were supposed to be free. Able to do…do everything we wanted…no Heaven or Hell holding us back…”

“Angel,” his voice was so very soft. “We _are_ free. There’s nothing holding you…holding either of us back anymore. Whatever it is you want…”

“No, Crowley. Don’t ask me.”

“As you wish.” He held out a pillow, and Aziraphale shifted, lifting his head up to make room for Crowley to slide it underneath. Instead, the demon squeezed himself onto the end of the couch, pillow in his lap, and gently pushed Aziraphale’s head to rest on it. “Is this alright?”

“Crowley you…you don’t have to do this…”

“Yes. I do.” His fingers gently ran through Aziraphale’s curls. “Are you comfortable now?”

Aziraphale bit his lip, not even able to speak. He just nodded his head, soaking in the warmth, the closeness, the sense of _belonging._ He hoped Crowley couldn’t see the tear rolling off his nose.

“Right. Now.” Crowley held up the book of poetry Aziraphale had been reading, and opened it to the first page.

_All I could see from where I stood_

_Was three long mountains and a wood;_

_I turned and looked the other way,_

_And saw three islands in a bay._

_So with my eyes I traced the line_

_Of the horizon, thin and fine,_

_Straight around til I was come_

_Back to where I’d started from;_

_And all I saw from where I stood_

_Was three long mountains and a wood._

“Oh,” Crowley paused, his stiff but lovely voice tumbling to a halt. “Ah, this one sounds a little depressing. Maybe I should…”

“No, it’s…it’s fine. It’s a little long, though, so perhaps…”

“If you want this one, I’ll read it.” Crowley cleared his throat and continued.

_Over these things I could not see:_

_These were the things that bounded me;_

_And I could touch them with my hand,_

_Almost, I thought, from where I stand…_

And so he continued, voice becoming more relaxed across the two hundred lines, fingers tracing gently through Aziraphale’s curls, until, for the first time in many decades, the angel drifted off to sleep.

\--

**Experiment**

The next day, Aziraphale took his cup of tea and his book, and sat in the corner of the sofa.

He didn’t say anything. Neither did Crowley, though he did shift a little bit. Making room? Or pulling away?

They sat like that for much of the day, occasionally talking, mostly just soaking in the silence. It was tense now, but a different sort of tension.

\--

The next day, Aziraphale sat on the sofa again, but not quite as tightly into the corner. And the next, and the next, every day moving a little closer. At the end of the week, he was so close they nearly touched.

Crowley still hadn’t said anything to acknowledge the change, hardly even looked up from his mobile. But this time, he lifted his arm, rested it on the back of the sofa.

Taking a breath, Aziraphale crossed that last inch of space, pressing against Crowley’s thigh, curling into the fold of his arm, resting his head lightly on Crowley’s shoulder. “Is…is this alright?”

“You know it is,” and Crowley turned towards him with a little smile.

“Only, I might get too heavy, you know, numb arm and all that. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“It’s fine, Angel. Whatever you want to do, it’s fine.”

Aziraphale nodded, and tried very hard to focus on his book.

\--

They walked sometimes, when the weather was decent.

At first, Crowley kept his hands in his pockets, Aziraphale’s were folded behind him.

Then, one day, looking at the bend of the elbow in that black sleeve, Aziraphale took a chance. Slipped his hand through, linking arms, as if they were about to start the gavotte. It felt very silly, not at all appropriate for a walk in St. James's Park.

Crowley stopped, looking at their arms for a long moment.

Aziraphale squirmed, not quite sure how to extricate himself from this. “Er, sorry. I wasn’t…you don’t…we don’t need to…”

Pulling his hands from his pockets, Crowley shifted his arm, tucking Aziraphale’s hand into the bend of his elbow. “Is that better?”

Aziraphale’s face felt very hot. But he brought up his other hand, folding them together, as couples used to stroll, arm-in-arm, around this very park two centuries before. He thought his heart might burst.

“Yes…thank you.”

They started walking again and said nothing more of it.

But every walk after that, Crowley offered his elbow, and Aziraphale took it.

\--

One night, after a few glasses of wine, they sat on the sofa together, talking of people long dead.

“No, I swear,” Crowley laughed. “I never met him!”

“You can’t be serious.” He refilled his glass and settled back against Crowley’s arm. “I was so certain Diogenes was one of yours. Asking questions, getting into fights with other philosophers, ignoring _every_ rule of good taste.”

“No, that doesn’t ring any bells.”

“Let me see. He used to sleep in this big old amphora in Athens. Oh, and he carried a lantern around in broad daylight.”

“No, I…wait!” Crowley laughed. “Not the _I’m looking for an honest man_ bloke?”

“Yes! That’s him! I knew you met him.”

“Well, once. I thought he was drunk. I sent him to that bar near the bathhouse.”

“You sent him to – Crowley! That was _my_ favorite bar!”

“Was it?” His face was a picture of innocence, completely ruined by the grin stretching across it. “I had no idea you were there that day.”

“Oh, you foul serpent!” He swatted at Crowley, nearly spilling his wine. “You know, that man followed me for a week after that! Kept asking me to define words and explain social mores so he could dispute them – it was an absolute nightmare!”

“Really? Sounds like a great conversation.”

Aziraphale huffed. “Well. We agreed on the subject of eating breakfast in the marketplace. _Strongly_ disagreed on the subject of urination, amongst other things.” Crowley made a sound that could be called a _giggle._ “It’s not funny! He only left me alone because I happened to cross paths with Plato and he found someone better to chase around.”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t love it.”

“Since you put it like that,” Aziraphale said, in as dignified a manner as he could manage. “I am an _angel_ and I love _all beings._ Though, of course, there are some beings I love much more than others, and some who test my patience –”

“Do you?”

Aziraphale lifted his head to meet Crowley’s gaze and _oh_ for the first time in many days he noticed just how close they were.

Crowley had taken his glasses off again, and his golden eyes glittered, burning with a light that Aziraphale could no longer deny.

“I. I should.” Aziraphale swallowed, trying to force his heart to behave. “I should give you some space. Let you get some sleep.”

Crowley leaned a little closer, and suddenly all Aziraphale could see were his lips, still wet with the wine, watch the shapes they formed as he whispered, “You don’t have to.”

Aziraphale stood up as fast as he could. “That’s quite enough. I know how you get when you’re sleep deprived.” He picked up both glasses and brought them to the sink.

Then he returned and settled into the corner of the sofa, placing a pillow on his lap.

Crowley stared at it, then at Aziraphale, then back at the pillow. “Are you sure?”

“Of course, my dear. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Crowley slithered up the sofa, resting his head on the pillow, pressing it back into the curve of Aziraphale’s stomach, wriggling to get as close as he could.

Aziraphale waited until he was settled, then let his hand fall, gently brushing through the bright red hair.

\--

**Decision**

Every day, Aziraphale looked at Crowley and asked himself, _What’s holding you back?_ In truth he’d been doing that since long before the lockdown started.

One day, he realized there was no good answer to that question.

He stepped before the sofa, before Crowley, so that their knees almost touched. Took a few practice breaths. “Crowley?” He hadn’t meant it to be a question.

The black lenses drifted up, away from the mobile phone, to meet him, face unreadable.

Aziraphale took another breath. “I have something to tell you. It’s, well, it’s rather important. And it might, it might change things…but I don’t think it should. I don’t…you understand I don’t _want_ things to change between us, but…that is…there’s something you should be made aware of.”

Crowley slowly put his phone aside and sat up, giving Aziraphale his full attention. “Do you want to sit down?”

“No, I think…standing might be best?” He wrung his hands. He _wanted_ to pace, as he had the dozen times he’d practiced this speech while on the roof, but he needed to stay here, needed to keep meeting Crowley’s eyes, no matter how he reacted.

“Alright. What is it you want to say?”

Oh, dear. He’d forgotten his speech. Aziraphale scrambled to remember the highlights.

“Well I…that is. I’m an angel, as you know.”

“Do tell.”

“Crowley, _please._ I’m an angel. And as such I…I am a creature of love. I love all beings, even disgusting philosophers and customers who put their greasy fingers on my books. But there are, well, there are some beings I love more than others. Some of them, you know, quite a lot more.”

“What are you saying?” Crowley’s fists clenched where they rested on his knees. His face was very, very still.

“I’m saying…I’m saying…” Aziraphale looked away, just for a moment, just to gather his strength. Then he turned back and said, as firmly as he could, “I love you, Crowley. Quite a lot, actually. Probably more than anything else in Creation. And with such intensity that I’m rather surprised it hasn’t destroyed me yet.” He took a deep shaking breath. “And I know…I know demons don’t experience love the same way angels do. I’m not asking you to feel the same. And I don’t want it to change our friendship, which is more precious to me than…than anything in the world. But. I thought you should know. I love you.”

“I…” Crowley ducked his head, one shaking hand rising to adjust his glasses. “You’re right, you know. Demons don’t…don’t love the way angels do.”

“Well.” Aziraphale nodded, trying to keep his face from crumbling. “That’s…that’s…I expected…” He started to back away.

“Wait.” One of Crowley’s hands landed gently on his hip, stopping him from moving away. The other pulled his glasses off and set them aside, but he kept his eyes downcast. “Let me finish. We _are_ different. I don’t see the same way you do, not as many colors. But I still appreciate a sunset. And…and I don’t hear the same way, can’t catch all the little details. Don't feel the harmonies chiming in my soul. But I still like all the same symphonies as you.”

His other hand reached for Aziraphale’s waist, and the angel let himself be guided forward, stepping between Crowley’s knees, so very, very close.

“Aziraphale…I know I don’t feel love the way you do. I could never love _every_ being. And I think if I loved with the intensity you do, it really would tear me apart. I’m not like you.” He finally lifted his eyes; they were full of tears. “But, Angel. You are…” He swallowed. “You’re my best friend. My family. My home. And every bit of love I have, it’s yours. Only yours.”

Aziraphale leaned forward, resting his hands on the back of the sofa. He was too lightheaded to stand anymore, but he never wanted to move from this spot. “Are…are you saying…?”

“I love you, Aziraphale. Yes. I really, really do.”

Their foreheads met, resting against each other, just as the first tear rolled down Aziraphale’s face. “Do you…do you think it can work? An angel and a demon, loving each other?”

“Only one way to find out.”

He could feel Crowley’s breath, steaming across his jaw, while those hands still burned where they held him. “I…we’ll work it out. A little at a time. And you don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with, I promise.”

“Mh. Aziraphale.” Crowley’s sharp nose brushed against his. “I’ve been waiting for you to kiss me since we got those oysters in Rome, and if you don’t –”

His lips found Crowey’s and they melted into each other, his arms around his demon’s neck, Crowley’s around his waist, and it was quite some time before either of them spoke again.

\--

**Integration**

Some days later, Aziraphale lay stretched out on the sofa, reading a book. Crowley draped across him like a blanket, head tucked under Aziraphale’s chin, half-asleep, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. Aziraphale’s arm seemed to move of its own volition, wrapping around Crowley, holding him in place, making little circles on his back.

“Any word on when the lockdown ends?” Aziraphale wondered.

“Mf.” Crowley peeked at his mobile, but he hadn’t been paying it any attention. “No. But if they don’t make a decision soon, I’m going to have to head back to my flat.”

Aziraphale’s hand froze. “You don’t…you don’t have to…”

Crowley pushed himself up until he could meet Aziraphale’s eyes. He wasn’t wearing his glasses. He never wore them at all anymore.

“That is,” Aziraphale said quickly, “You can leave if you want, but I’m not…you can also stay. As long as you like. After the lockdown ends. However…long…”

Crowley smiled. “Angel, I _do_ have to go back. All my plants are still in Mayfair, and can you imagine what they’re getting up to unsupervised?” He leaned down and kissed the bridge of Aziraphale’s nose. “As for _staying as long as I like,_ well, that has a certain appeal. But not until _you_ find a place for my bed. And my television. And my fine art.”

“Dearest, I’ve seen how you decorate, and I assure you that is _not_ fine art.”

“I have a sketch of the Mona Lisa!”

“Yes, but you also have a pornographic sculpture –”

“They’re _wrestling,_ Angel!”

“—and I believe that cancels out _all_ of your da Vinci works.”

Crowley settled back against Aziraphale’s chest, but something was clearly bothering him. After a moment, he muttered, “I don’t know if there’s… _room_ for me in your life.”

“I will _make_ room for you, dearest.” He kissed the top of Crowley’s head, resting his lips there as he thought. “There are a few rooms upstairs. It’s meant to be a flat, I think, but I’ve always used them for storage. We can clear those out easily enough and move your things in. And the plants can go on the roof. We’ll set something up to keep the pigeons off them. That should do for the rest of the lockdown, don’t you think?”

“And…after the lockdown?”

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “I think at that point we’ll be ready for a vacation. Perhaps someplace towards the coast. I’ll close up the shop for a bit. We can find a nice little cottage and…” He found his hand was rubbing across Crowley’s back again. “And stay for as long as we like. Months. Years. Decades. Whatever it takes.”

Scrambling to sit up, Crowley looked down at Aziraphale incredulously. “You’d really…why would you leave this shop, leave London?”

“Because, my love,” he took Crowley’s hands. “We deserve a break. We deserve a place we can both call our own. And we deserve a chance to work this out, together, without any interruptions.” He sighed. “We could be there _now_ if I hadn’t been so slow to say anything.”

Crowley bent down and kissed him on the mouth, pulling his breath away. “It was perfect, Angel. All of it. Every moment. All six thousand and twenty-four years. Don’t ever think differently.”

“Fine.” Aziraphale kissed him one more time, then sat up. “But no more delays. Let’s go measure out your new rooms immediately.”

He took Crowley’s hand, twining their fingers together, and led him up the stairs to start their new life.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this Quarantine Fic - please comment below! :)
> 
> I've been playing with ideas for arospec stories, and while I didn't precisely go that route, that is definitely the inspiration for Crowley's confession. (If anyone has thoughts on how to write an aromantic or arospec couple, let me know - it's someplace I'd like to go in the near future.)
> 
> The poem was the beginning of "Renascence" by Edna St. Vincent Millay (followers of my Tumblr may have noticed I'm a little obsessed with her...). I felt the depression and frustration evident in the poem, where the speaker moves through her emotions to new love and acceptance of the world, were very appropriate here.
> 
> Finally, I broke one of my "Crowley" rules in this story by letting him have a sappy "I love you" speech. I figured he's earned it, given what I've put him through in some of my stories, and frankly so have we.
> 
> Thank you again for reading. Stay safe, everyone!


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